Dark Moon
by Kitten Little
Summary: One of three tales about true werewolves. Delphine Marque is a human-killing werewold living in Paris. When Carsin, a reporter from the USA, begins to supect her condition, she has two choices. Go to the Volturi or kill him herself. Or is there a third?
1. Forrbiden

**A/N: I don't know much French or German, so if I wrote something wrong. Please tell me.**

**1. Forbidden**

I squatted in front of the wall, bucket of light blue paint sitting beside me. Dipping the brush in, I signed the initials that I used to identify myself. DM. The painting itself was a massive dark blue circle. I was about 6 yards from where I had attacked my latest victim.

I could only remember bits and pieces of whatever happened when I Phased but I made a habit of finding a big enough blank spot to paint my mark. It was supposed to be the moon, the every thing that controlled my Phases.

That's right, members of the public, I am a werewolf. I was Infected fifteen years ago by some dumb ass who forgot to kill me. Of course, being fully grown at the time of my Transition, I do not look forty. Or maybe I'm forty-one? I live by weeks, not years.

I don't sound like I'm forty either. I try my hardest to sound as human as possible when I'm around humans and not a wolf. It means acting like I look, not how I feel.

I'm Rouge, but almost all of us are Rouges now. The bloodsuckers known as the Volturi tend to destroy packs or those who might form packs as soon as they get word of them. Apparently, they want to kill as many as they can in one fatal blow.

I know very few others of my kind, only the stories I am told when I see Malachi, a former Pack wolf. He, also being a total dumb ass, has decided to start another pack. I haven't seen him in over a dozen Phases, probably because he's running for his life.

I credit Malachi with helping me keep my mind clear when I am human and helping with my memories as a wolf. Unfortunately, that means I also have to blame him for leading me to kill again. As I gained control I considered joining his furry utopia, but before I could ask, he disappeared. It drove me to the brink of insanity.

According to an English physiology book I stole from the Paris library one night when I was not Phased, my paintings were a sign of guilt or remorse. I use it like a dog that pees. It's my mark; it tells anyone else who might come to Paris to back off. The city belongs to me.

I'm probably the only city dwelling werewolf in Europe; maybe even in the world, but if any supernatural being shows up, they'll know. The Volturi probably likes the propaganda of saying that we wolves are monsters that decimate villages and terrorize cities. That we're a risk to the vampires' secret remaining a secret.

I'll admit, I _do_ like scaring the humans, but I don't let anyone live to tell the tale. Not old people, not children; they're all the same to me. No one lives to tell the tale of the Dark Moon.

Have I forgotten to introduce myself? Pardon my manners. I was born Delphine Marque, but now I usually tell the humans my name is Irene or don't tell them at all. I'm a painter, German born, French raised. I speak three languages, French primarily with German and English fighting for second place.

I wiped my hands on my ratty jeans (also stolen) and quickly moved back to the abandoned warehouse I called home. I dunked my head in a bucket of water, to stay awake, changed my clothes and headed back onto the street.

As I neared the part of town where I stole my food from, I dumped into someone. "Je vous demande pardon," I muttered, stopping in my tracks. (I'm sorry or I beg your pardon)

The man did not know what I was saying. "Parlezvous allemand?" (Do you speak German?)

He blinked, clearly perplexed. "Anglais ou américain?" (English or American?)

"American," he said, finally understanding a conjugate. "Name's Carsin."

"I was apologizing for knocking into you. Seriously, you tourists need to learn the language if you are going to be here for more then a few days."

"I'm not a tourist. I'm an artist, a photographer working for a paranormal magazine." He handed me a business card.

**Carsin Boyle, Photographer, Unnatural Monthly**

I stared at the bandana clad man with ash brown hair in mild shock. He was the first human that I thought was cute since I was Infected. How ironic was it that his name was spelled with an i. Sin, as in forbidden. Something I couldn't have.

His blue eyes were piercing right though me. "Are you okay? Um—what's your name?"

I didn't think about the lie at first. "Del—Irene." I sputtered. "My name is Irene."

"Are you okay?" he asked again. "You look tired and pale."

Pale wasn't a usual for me, but tired was. Even when we aren't Phased, werewolves are generally nocturnal creatures. To seem as normal (aka not a serial killer) I try my hardest to not sleep in the morning. "I have not had my coffee yet this morning, ami." (friend)

"Can I take you to a café then, Irene? My treat."

- -

I was marveling at Carsin's camera, simply because I had seen nothing like it. "What is your assignment here, Carsin?"

"The Dark Moon." He chose a picture and passed me the camera.

I almost dropped my pastry, panicked. It was my mark; the one I made my first Phase after Malachi disappeared. "What?"

"My—colleagues—seem to believe that this graffiti is somehow related to dismemberments blamed on escaped dogs."

"DM," he said, pointing to a light spot on the photo. "They think it's some sort of supernatural being. A vampire or vengeful spirit of some sort. We've already ruled out werewolf."

That was a relief. I tried to sound as much like a skeptic as possible. "How did they rule out the werewolf?"

"The bodies have been found a week after the full moon and they had not been dead for a week."

I almost laughed hysterically. Instead, a single giggle left my lips. I bit into the pastry, trying to hide the fact that my face was going red.

Carsin must have interpreted my relief as embarrassment on his behalf. "You don't believe in the supernatural?"

"Oh—I mean," I put the pastry down, "English isn't my native tongue. I'm not sure I understand the question."

"Do you believe in ghosts, werewolves or vampires?"

I took a deep breath. "Ghosts, maybe. Vampires, of sorts. Werewolves, no."

"Well, I think the werewolves are real." He leaned across the table to point out the details I had memorized. "This circle, you can tell by the little circles in it, is supposed to be the full moon. The thing that turns a 'were' into a wolf."

"You cannot believe everything you see in movies, ami."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, picking at our food and sipping our coffee.

"So, Irene, I see there's paint on your jeans. Can I imply that you paint?"

"Oui. I do. When time allows. Usually, I just—" I lost my English for a second. "What is the word I am looking for?"

"Draw?" Carsin offered gently. "Doddle?"

"Yes, doddle. I enjoying doddle—ing?"

Carsin laughed at my slight struggle with gerunds. He wasn't mean about it, but he leaned in further, hand rubbing against mine.

It was like an electric shock that traveled up my entire arm. I pulled my hand away, shaking it slightly. Draining my coffee, I stood. "I am afraid I must return to my work, Carsin Boyle. Good luck on your article."


	2. Side Effects

**2. Side Effects**

It was a few days later. No one had affected me that way before. I was trying to sleep around noon, but my heart was racing in my chest, adrenaline making it impossible to rest. I told myself it was not okay to settle with the first guy that seemed attracted to me, but it was hard.

First, I reminded myself that I was older then he by more years then he needed to know. He knew there were werewolves (mind you, I did not know how much of his knowledge was creditable) and bloodsuckers. He worked for people who wanted him to find proof that I was real.

Malachi had once told me the rumors regarding the shape-shifters of America. They chose a wolf form not unlike our own, but could change at will. Day or night. This was amusing to me, to think there were those that were born monsters, not Infected. Maybe I could lead Carsin in that direction.

I heard footsteps coming toward me. Jumping off the cot, I prepared to hit whoever it was.

"Hello?" the voice said English. "Irene?"

I straightened and walked across the empty space toward the door. "Carsin? How did you find me?"

"I took a picture of you and asked around." He reached me. "Nice place you got here. Open floor plan."

"This is a warehouse. Open yes, warm no. I usually spend my time out." I wanted him to leave. "What are you doing in my home?"

"I wanted to see you again. I thought maybe you could help me find the painter behind the Dark Moon."

Suddenly, I realized all I was wearing was a men's shirt and undergarments. My cheeked burned in embarrassment. "Why do you need my help?"

"Oh, do you have a boyfriend?" he asked, recognizing my embarrassment.

"No," I replied softly. I slid on a pair of jeans quickly, hoping he hadn't seen my panties. "I just wear what happens to be available."

He had turned away, and was looking at a painting. It was a larger one of a wolf sleeping in an urban area. "Is that a puddle of blood?" he asked, voice cracking.

I laughed at his fear. "It's the only thing colored in the painting isn't it?"

"It's a metaphor for chaos of living in a city, isn't it?"

I nodded. "The wolf can only sleep when her enemy is dead."

"Her?" he asked softly. "Interesting. And who is the enemy?"

"The others," I said sharply. Carsin was interviewing me and he knew what he was doing. It was like he had his suspicions.

"Okay, don't analyze your art. I get it. Don't get touchy. I think it's beautifully strange. Personal. Raw." He was staring at me, eyes wide with dark curiosity. "Deep. It's like you know what it's like. How long have you been living in this warehouse?"

"A while. It is easy to lose track of time when you are like me."

He was still staring at me and a smirk crossed his tan face. "You're hiding something, Irene, aren't you?"

I didn't reply. Carsin was on to something. My something; the fact that I was a werewolf. He was looking at another piece of my art, this one Malachi. "Who's he?" Carsin asked.

"My blood brother," I said slowly. "Malachi."

"Delphine!" I heard the familiar call from outside.

I swore internally. "Stay here, Carsin. I'll be back in a little bit."

--

"What are you doing here, friends?" I demanded in a tone counterintuitive to my words.

"We are passing through on our way to the New World. We are looking for the shape-shifters."

I rolled my eyes. "Why are you taking a pup with you?"

"I call her Little Moon, Delphine, and she's older then a pup."

She replied hotly, "My name is Quinn Parker and I suggested it. I've lived in Seattle. I know the territory."

"You've Infected an American, Malachi? Are you stupid? The Volturi—"

My elder sharply interrupted my complaint. "Are scared out of their minds at the idea of being threatened by these creatures. We'll be safer there. And you're coming with us."

"Me?" I demanded. "I am not going with you! I have my own problems to deal with!"

Malachi looked like he was about to attack me. Little Moon put a hand on Malachi's chest. "Please relax, Malachi. She's different from us. There's nothing bad about her staying here. Paris looks like a nice enough city."

Malachi took her hand and kissed it. "Of course, Little Moon." He looked at me. "If we can, we'll come back."

--

"Sorry, Carsin. Malachi and his girlfriend are passing through."

Carsin was sitting on my coffee table. "He called you Delphine," he replied in a shocked tone.

"It's my given name," I replied, stinking to my cot. "Poor Little Moon, he's taking her on a wild goose chase."

Carsin acted like he didn't hear my second comment. "You always look exhausted, Irene. Are you sure you're not sick?"

I laughed flatly. We called it 'Infection'. It was an illness. It just wasn't lethal. "My brother tends to be eccentric and that eccentricity tends to tire _me_."

"Why don't I take you out tonight?" Carsin replied. "Get it off your pretty little mind."


	3. Author's Note

Hey, you guys! It's KL and this is not an actual chapter of any sort! I'm pasting this identical note on every single WIP (Work in Progress) fiction I have. Writing _Defining Merci_ (FYI, it's a Criminal Minds fiction) had pushed my mind into a v. dark place and even my college professors are noticing. Therefore, I have decided to not write anything for Merci for a least a month and choose only one not as dark fiction to write that entire month and post one chapter a week.

That is starting in July. For the rest of June I'm not writing anything, but I am putting a poll up so you lot can choose what fiction I focus on for July Here are you choices:

_Progress_, sequel to _Stuck_, a Bree Twilight fiction

_Darkness Always Comes: the Diary of Felicity Anne Peachflint_, an Original Character Harry Potter fiction

_Dark Moon_, a True Werewolf Twilight fiction

_Denying the Moon, _a True Werewolf Twilight fiction

_Little Moon, _a True Werewolf Twilight fiction

_Falling in Love on the 3__rd__ floor, _a Spencer/OC Criminal Minds fiction

I will not count review only votes. You use poll or not get counted at all. Also, it will be a blind poll.


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